Diary of an Ugly Duckling Langhorne, Karyn (reading rainbow books txt) 📖

loves you,

have you?”

Audra considered. Dr. Goddard was right: What-

ever else stood between them, however odd the

form it took, Audra had never doubted that Edith’s

love for her was genuine. But still she paused,

stroking the envelope, pinioning the doctor with,

“She didn’t deny that when she looks at me . . . she

feels ashamed.”

“Of herself, Audra. Not of you.”

Audra shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

“No.”

“Yes.” The doctor handed her a tissue from a very

full dispenser placed on the coffee table between

them. “Close your eyes, Audra.” Audra complied.

“Now, think about it, Audra. Put yourself in her

shoes if you can. You’re a married woman and

you’ve fallen in love with another man. You’re preg-

nant by this other man, but before you work up the

nerve to tell your husband and leave, he’s killed in

an accident—or at least that’s how much of the story

we’ve been able to piece together so far.” She leaned

into Audra’s space from her armchair. “Now if that

were you—and I personally think you and your

mother have to be a lot alike—if that were you, how

would you feel? Would you be mad at the baby—”

“Of course not—” Audra began, but Dr. Goddard

kept speaking right over her.

“Or would be mad at yourself? And every time

you looked at that child, you’d be thinking, Why

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

237

didn’t I act sooner? or, I wish I’d done this differently, or

even, God, why did you take him? But you wouldn’t be

mad at the child. Sad, maybe. Maybe you feel bad.

For yourself. For the child . . .” She let her voice trail

off and for a long second there was silence in the

room. “But you wouldn’t be mad. And meanwhile,

that child would be watching your face, thinking

she’s the thing that’s making you feel sad, bad and

mad. And that would be just wrong. Dead wrong.”

Audra couldn’t form words to respond. A huge

lump rose in her throat, choking off everything but

an odd feeling of release. It was like a golden key

had been slipped into a secret lock somewhere deep

in Audra’s heart.

“I think it’s time you met your father,” Dr. God-

dard said gently, nodding toward the envelope.

“When a young woman makes peace with her fa-

ther, she opens herself up to have loving relation-

ships with men. Open it. There’s nothing but love

for you in there . . . if you’re willing to see it.”

Audra nodded. Through a haze of tears, she posi-

tioned her fingers at the lip of adhesive running

along the top of the brown paper and tugged.

It ripped easily, sending a small stack of miscella-

neous papers spilling out over the coffee table in a

sudden disorganized jumble. Later, Audra would

know the investigator had included his report, a few

official documents, and a folded letter, handwritten

on what appeared to be paper torn from a notebook.

But at first her eyes followed the snapshot as it

floated from the envelope to the floor, landing face

down on the doctor’s thickly carpeted floor. Audra

bent to retrieve it.

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Karyn Langhorne

Her own face stared out at her, only it was settled

on a thick chunk of masculine body, leaning against

a land yacht, a two-toned Cadillac from back in the

day. He had deep chocolate skin, smoky black eyes

and full lips, and was smiling a smile that seemed

tailor made for this moment of reunion.

“Hi, Dad,” Audra whispered as fresh tears

streamed down her face. She stroked the photo with

her fingertips. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Chapter 20

July 25

Dear Petra,

Glad you were able to get a message off to Ma about

your deployment. I was pretty worried, not hearing

from you for so long.

I’m doing okay. Starting to heal. Been doing a lot of

thinking . . . a lot of self-discovery. Or rediscovery, as the

case may be. It sucks . . . but it’s easier than worrying

about how I’m going to look when all this is over with.

I stopped using the lightening cream. I told Dr.

Jamison that now that I’d met my father, I thought I’d

had enough. He didn’t argue—actually he didn’t say

much of anything about it, except to remind me to stay

out of the sun unless I want to look like a checkerboard.

Apparently once you start using this lightening cream,

weird things can happen to your skin when you stop.

But it seems to have done the job: I don’t have any

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Karyn Langhorne

keloid scars. In fact, I don’t have any scars at all. I

guess that’s why Dr. Jamison let me stop without a

word. Even Shamiya hasn’t said a thing. Which, in a

way, makes me more nervous than if they’d all lined up

in the hallway, trying to persuade me.

I’m not quite as light as you are . . . but I think this is

enough.

I have a lot of conflicting emotions about this whole

thing, now. On the one hand, I want to see it through.

But I wonder, if Ma could only have told me sooner . . .

would I have still wanted to go through with it? I look

just like him, Petra. Or I used to. Would I have wanted

to bear the face of a man I never even knew?

I have no way of answering that . . . and it’s too late

now anyway. Most of the bandages are off and I’ll be

starting the exercise regimen soon. Talking to Bradshaw

helps. Did I tell you he calls almost every night? No, it’s

not like that. Nothing romantic (though I confess, I still

have some pretty hot dreams about him). It’s weird.

He’s turned out to be kinda like my best friend. I wonder

if he still will be when I get back to New York.

Anyway, write when you can.

Be careful out there,